Inside my head

Inside my head I am a hot 25 year old redhead with great shoes and some extra cash to spend on myself whenever I want to. I am a reasonable size, I am highly educated (Masters in Education), entertaining to men and women, and pursuing my passion for rescuing animals, knowing it's my life's calling.

Inside my head I'm a great writer, who has several book ideas, mostly autobiographical in nature focusing on my crazy mother and my hilarious journey to my current position in life, and one trashy romance novel I'd like to try writing, although the sex parts make me blush to write.

Inside my head I am a cool, calm mom, who has a particularly accurate intuition into her childrens' needs and a head for handling too much at once, key for surviving a multiples household. In my head I am fair to a fault, always put others first and easily forgive.

Inside my head on a bad day I am fat, wrinkled, tired looking, lazy, a boring writer, running out of money, wasting my education, without a calling in life, an impatient mom who yells too much and prefers her iphone over her children's attention.

Inside my head it seems to be black and white, good or bad but never just average. In life I am completely tolerant of almost any failing in someone else, barring animal or human abuse, but inside my head I have no tolerance for my own. I berate myself in a way I would never do to my children, beat myself up in a way I would never show, and belittle and mock my minute to minute actions like some cruel abusive husband to myself.

Inside my head there is a small dark cloud that on most days stays isolated in a non-critical zone but on bad days spreads like a toxic plume from a burning oil spill until it fills my head and my vision with images black and violent to my psyche.

Inside my head there needs to be some major renovation, because children learn from their parents and I will not saddle another innocent child with the mindset of an addict or an addict's loved one. That crap won't fly anymore.

You know, sometimes our children save us from ourselves.

This is not a pity party

When you're raised in a family where the parents are a narcissistic alcoholic and bipolar who never had a childhood, you learn to take care of yourself.

Scratch that. You learn to take care of everyone else BUT yourself.

You tiptoe around the house trying not to set off the alarms. You roll along under the radar behaving yourself but for your back talk, which, for some reason, is mostly tolerated in this family. You may even scream and scream, literally, to be heard, but you wont be. But you don't learn that taking care of yourself is of prime importance. Because the whole family is about taking care of your sick mom.

And when your brother dies, and your mom falls apart - more - you grow up fast and take on more responsibility. And more. You collect friends around you who are dependent upon you. You attract needy people like flies and wonder why you're so tired all the time. And why you're depressed too.

And then you have a family of your own. You frantically run around (figuratively more than literally) trying to be everything to everyone. Sure, you get a massage now and then. And you do sit on your butt after everyone's asleep instead of doing laundry or cleaning the house. And you make your children crap for dinner instead of real meals, but in your mind you are constantly on guard. You don't know how to let them take care of themselves. Not even your grown husband. You are afraid to sleep train the baby, even though you did ok with the triplets. You are concerned you're messing them up for not having dinner with them at a table every night instead of eating later when it's quiet. There's always something you could be doing.

In theory, you have to run out of energy at some point. But in 38 years I haven't. I do take care of myself in certain ways. I am pretty good at fighting for a few minutes to myself even if it's at the expense of couple time. But I am afraid. Am I going to go so far in the other direction from my parents that I actually create narcissists in my own children? Will they learn that they have to take care of each other, me, their dad or grandparents and themselves in fair amounts? Will they turn into the opposite of me like I did my parents? Is it possible, in the first generation, to create a different story?

And when things come out of my mouth that sound just like my mom and dad like "what is wrong with you?" can they forgive me? Because nothing is wrong with them. They're just being 2. My mom watches them and shakes her head with the honest belief that something is wrong with them. I merely have a momentary thought of 'what has gotten into you' and I can see the difference, but can they? Will they think I think poorly of them because I do too much for them? Will they think I think they're stupid because I help them do things?

How do you parent well when you have not been parented well? How do you not go so far off the other end and create a whole different set of traps? Therapy is helpful, but when those kids have driven you to the edge of your sanity and you haven't slept in weeks and you just want to sit down and eat some damned lunch if they would just nap like they're supposed to......how do you not yell the things you grew up hearing at them? "Why are you doing this to me?" "I'll give you something to cry about" "Don't talk back to me missy!"

I know no one is the perfect parent but I'd like to be middle of the road. Is it possible?

Bad Dreams

As a parent there are many things you want to spare your children. Bad experiences you may have had, may have heard about or just may imagine could happen. Broken bones, broken dreams, broken hearts, and so on. And in the early years, when they can't talk to you, you spend an awful lot of time trying to decipher crying spells. Is she hurt, physically or mentally? Is he wet, uncomfortable, achey? Is she frustrated, angry, irritated?

My children are no exception. Some of them cry more than others. One in particular, J, seemed to have nightmares right from the start. Terrifying ordeals of him screaming and yelling and thrashing, inconsolable, unreachable in his terror. Sure, we read about night terrors and how they don't remember them in the morning, but how the heck do they know that when the kid can't speak?

And the other thing you have to wonder about is what is a nightmare to a 8 month old? Being hungry and no bottle in sight? Having to take a nap when you don't feel tired? What are they having nightmares about?

The older you get, you figure the more things they can have nightmares about. And, unfortunately, with triplets the language comes later. Mine are just starting to put two words together at 29 months. Singleton children are stringing sentences together at this point. But regardless, in the middle of the night they're mute. You go in to the screaming, crying child and ask them what's wrong. You soothe and hug them and they remain mute. They just stare at you like they don't even recognize you, and then they go back to sleep again quieted for a moment.

So you're left with the question. What are the nightmares about? Has someone done something inappropriate to or with them? Is someone or something scaring them regularly? Is there something you should be protecting them from that you aren't?

And then you lay in bed at 6:20 am in the morning, listening, and find out what the nightmare is about:

"No, no, no, NO! My bucket. My bucket, MY BUCKET!!!"

A theory of relativity

It's all relative isn't it? Parenting I mean. From day to day, how you react to x, y or z is all relative.

Last night, while A was crying in her 'night before I get really sick' way I had no sympathy. I got up once, made sure she wasn't currently sick, wet or missing a stuffed animal or blanket and never again. Two weeks ago?  I got up 4 or 5 times. I felt sorry for her. I knew she probably had a sore throat. She never lets me give her meds in the middle of the night though, so what can I do for a sore throat? Is it better to lay in bed listening to her cry, knowing she would stop if I went in every time, but then would be back on in an hour or so?

Well last night it was. Which mom is right? The sympathetic one? Or the sleepy one?

Today, perhaps I have no patience, because I am tired. Disputes get settled with both kids getting yelled at. Yesterday, perhaps, I was better able to distinguish between aggressor and victim. Did it make a difference? Not really. They fought again 5 minutes later. Did the victim feel vindicated or understood? I  doubt it at 21 months.

But perhaps this is the balance. Some days I'm more or too sympathetic. Some days I'm a beeyotch. If it's 50/50, maybe this is balance? Because no human can be balanced every day. And too much sympathy is bad too, perhaps not as bad as too little?

It's all relative. And lately I have been relatively unhappy, so they have probably suffered in my parenting that way. Now I guess I have to manufacture a couple of weeks of happy parenting and it should all even out. Any hints on how to do that other than offing some annoying people in my life?

Scary Mommy

I seem to have perfected the scary mommy routine. That does not mean it's always effective. But when it is? It's gooooood.

When B decided to climb over his pack n play crib edge and wander to the top of the stairs in our vacation home the other night, I first got scared. Then I got mad. The second time he jumped out of bed while I was waiting in the hall, I got mean. I stuck my face so close to his and I told him never, ever to do that again. Apparently it worked. I also removed the mattress from his crib as well as any stuffed animals which could be used as stair steps to get out of bed. But the next night when I put it all back in? He stayed put.

Yesterday, when all three of my children were fighting over every single thing, including every toy they had not seen in 10 days upon returning to my house and had, within 20 minutes, driven mommy completely over the edge? I revved up the mean mommy and hollered. Wouldn't you know it? They stopped what they were doing. Stared at mean angry mommy. Made me feel like crap. Then went right back to what they were doing. But at least I know I can get their attention.

Sometimes.

Other times its like I'm talking to the wall. I could scream at the top of my lungs and not a reaction could be seen. Not a twitch of an ear. Not a turn of the head. Which does not make mommy quieter.

So, perhaps we're at 50/50 success rate with the mean mommy act. I just have to force myself not to use it too often as we are moving into prime defy mommy age. Otherwise it will lose its power. Such that it is....

You feel calm, veeeery calm..

"They" say that when a kid is defying you by not listening or even reacting to the fact that words are coming out of your face that the worst thing you can do is yell. They list a bunch of other things you shouldn't do, but they actually said yelling was the worst. Because, of course, the little bugger is trying to get a reaction out of you. And yelling? Doesn't scare him yet. He doesn't know that in a few months, when he's emotionally ready to understand punishment? Yelling will be the warning that its comin' on and you'd better get ready for some pain. Emotional pain that is of course. You know, the suffering that comes from sitting on the naughty step and all.

But, really? How am I not supposed to yell? J is grabbing B by the collar of his shirt and pulling pulling yanking dragging him down to the ground because he feels like it and I'm all "J....J.........J.......J.... GODDAMIT J I'M TALKING TO YOU!!!

Because I know he can hear me. He passed his hearing test just fine. He hears the call to dinner just fine. He hears me tiptoeing through his room at night just fine. That boy just wants to kick his brother's butt and there will be no stopping other than physically prying his tight little fists finger by finger from his brother's shirt. This sibling rivalry starts early and it ain't pretty.

I'm just kind of concerned about how it's going to go down when they're 8. Because they'll know judo and ninja moves by then. How many trips to the hospital am I in for between the two of them fighting over stuff? Not to mention the usual silly boy antics that crack open skulls on a regular basis.

But not yelling? That might send me to the hospital. The mental ward. I am a yelly person. If I have to maintain some sort of weird unnatural calm in order to have control over these kids? I'm doomed. And I'd rather screw them up a bit than end up in the padded cell.

I'm just sayin'. Listen to your mother. It's better for your health.

About that award

So I am honored, nay, amazed and gratified, to find myself the recipient of an award. Not just any lady gave me this, but a fellow blogger. JennyMac at lets have a cocktail who has at least 8 billion more readers than I and yet finds me interesting. A blogger who writes and follows some of the wittiest and smartest blogs I've ever read and yet found me worthy of mention on a short list of her faves. Shocking really. The award is called Honest Scrap for honest blogging. I don't hold much back I suppose, so it fits.

And would I be a mother if I wasn't so self denigrating and humble? Pshaw. No really, I don't feel worthy because on a daily basis I write whatever comes out of my head and a lot of her other examples seem to create very intricate blogs with well thought out premises. Not I. Pretty much barf onto the keyboard. Ah well, to each their own, and I am not against accepting awards. However, they do come with work. And I do get to pass them on to other worthies, whether they like it or not. Now you get to see who my 'read every day' bloggers are, although that column on the right side of the page might already have given you a clue.

Here are the rules: First, the recipient has to tell 10 true things about themselves in their blog that no one else knows.

Second, the recipient annoints ten other bloggers with this prestigious award and advises them of their famed status.They in turn give you a proper nod for recognizing their brilliance, and then pass the award along.

Ten things NO ONE KNOWS? Impossible. Everyone knows everything about me. Well let's see:

1. I was completely correct in guessing the genders of my triplets the morning of the ultrasound to find out. I mean exactly, not just 2 boys and a girl but A was a girl, and so on. Impressed me.

2. I really have a big problem with spiders due to one appearing on my shoulder while drying off from a shower when I was like 8. Actually it's not fair because it was a daddy long legs but sorry spidees. However, I will not kill one. I will leave the room and give it time to disappear.

3. I really wish I had the willpower or drive to be a vegan but I don't. I hate that animals suffer.

4. Breakfast is my favorite meal.

5. I inherited a bunch of money when I was in college but I donated most of it away (to the animals!) and then I put a downpayment on a house and that was the end of it. Did choose worthy causes mind you. Just felt guilty being handed a dead person's money.

6. I'm absolutely certain that God put the wrong color hair on my head and thus I dye it the 'correct' color which really does look better. When I was a little girl I also thought God forgot to put fat on my brother so he slapped it all on me. You should see the pictures that convinced me of this. It sure looks probable.

7. I was called 'megamouth' after a game they sold in the 80s when I was in grade school. Those who know me I'm sure can NOT imagine why. Sure sucked.

8. I used to be a christmas sweater and earrings wearing woman for quite a while. I think I was recapturing my youth, or rather recreating the holiday to actually be fun since it never was when I was growing up. I still wear the earrings so sue me. And I will wear a halloween t-shirt now and then. Whatever.

9. I talk to an astrologer once in a while so she can tell me life really will get better soon. I'm counting the minutes. She was right before when I needed a boost. Life did get better. And who doesn't need someone reassuring them sometimes. So shaddup.

10. I would have been a bio major but I refused to sit in labs all freaking afternoon on warm spring days. Really. That's why I chose history. No really.

So on to my list of 10 bloggers (I don't know 10 bloggers!) who deserve this award. Here's my best attempt:

1. Andrea at Smart and Sassy who probably doesn't want more readers, but too hilarious not to deserve some.

2. Ellen at Wear at Work who writes fashion advice and some very funny rants regarding fashion mistakes. Do NOT end up one of her fashion victims. She will get you.

3. Dumb mom over at Parenting by Dummies who is not just funny but supportive and a SITSta.

4. ck at Bad Mommy Moments who will not want this award but really is crazy funny and makes me hope my kids do the same nutty stuff she writes about. Even though it sucks sometimes.

5. Gibby at Lost in Suburban Bliss because she tells it like it is about mommyhood too.

6. I'm all out again.

Really, I read other blogs but they're not trying to get more readers I think, they're family blogs. I love all my triplet mommas but there are too many to list here and, again, I think this award is more for people trying to get a following? So don't get all whiney if I missed you. It's not that I don't love you. And if you want, comment and complain. I might remember I forgot to add you.

Thanks again JennyMac!

Kids and cats, the same?

How my kids are like my cats. Or vice versa naturally.

1. They chase each other around the house.

2. They fight with each other regularly, over me or random crap.

3. They all want to pile on me at once and none of them wants anyone else on me at the same time.

4. They prefer to play with garbage or wrapping more than the toys we spend so much money on.

5. I have to clean up their poop, pee and vomit on a regular basis.

6. They hate the doctor and practically claw me to death trying to get away from him.

7. They turn their nose up at half the food I serve them.

8. They destroy my furniture.

9. They want attention in the middle of the night.

10. They cry constantly while I'm fixing their meals, apparently not fast enough.

11. They writhe in agony while I'm trimming their nails even though I am NOT hurting them.

12. The Dr has to constantly explain their odd behaviors to me.

13. According to them I never spend enough time with them.

14. They tend to drool all over me.

15. They all have different personalities.

16. Oh heck, I love every messy, annoying, demanding one of them.

Triplets or normal?

I see behaviors in my children and sometimes I wonder, is it because they're triplets, or could any kid be this way? I begin with the story of our first music and movement class we took today, your typical toddler music class with random instruments and made up music in a random dance studio. We arrived there a bit early so we could get parking and get situated and snack, and found it was just an empty studio with mirrors on one side and no props out or visible. My children began tearing around the room like they were in their own living room. A yelling out a greeting to anyone who was in the room, B and C trying to destroy the teacher's paperwork, A beating on the mirrors like she was in grandma's house, I mean they were nuts! Meanwhile, the other kids trickled in, clinging tightly to their parent's or nanny's legs. Shy as all get out. One cried and B went over and sat next to her! Triplets? Or did I just get three extroverts? I'd argue triplets. We are in a constant state of socialization. If you can't handle a lot of people or kids around, you aren't going to make it as a triplet, right?

The other possibility is that I am just a laid back mom. Now daddy would disagree but he's missing the point. I am a controlling nightmare about naps and scheduling the kids, sure, but you try having triplets and not being one. What I mean is that I never pushed the kids out of their comfort zone even though they have been exposed to a lot. When they needed to be left alone, they were left alone. I fiercely defended them from poking and prodding by strangers. I made sure the extroverted child was put into the visitor's arms first, usually held the shy kid myself. But there must be something I'm doing right. They aren't addicted to binkies/pacifiers. They fall asleep within an hour of bedtime (well don't hold B to that but pretty soon after!) and have accepted that I am not coming into the bedtime before 7:20 am. They are off bottles, drinking milk, eating some veggies and fruits and growing like weeds. And apparently, you can take them anywhere!

I think this post has turned into a 'yay me' post. How about that? Amazing what a little music class can do!

In contemplation of the noble tantrum

What is the evolutionary principle behind tantrums? Can you imagine, just imagine, cave mamma Ugg with child #1 standing just outside cave mouth #43 on Cave Mouth Street grinding corn or preparing to go out and gather and little cave kid Ugg Jr throws himself to the ground and pounds his tiny fists and kicks his tiny legs and screams like a bear to get what he wants? Do you suppose she rolls her cavelady eyes and hands it to him? Because I don't. I see cave mamma taking her club out and giving him a good whack.

Imagine, again, Mayan momma standing in the hot sun after harvesting corn (oh I'm not an indigenous tribe specialist get off my back) watching Mayan girl baby screaming to be allowed to play with that last ear of corn, because it had become her toy, and not giving it to Mayan momma immediately upon being asked. Do you think she might be tempting the Mayan god to select her for the heart sacrifice? I think I'd tread a bit more carefully if I were that kid.

And imagine, if you will, prairie settler family Miller just put prairie kid Joseph to bed and he throws a tantrum to the point of barfing on his bedcovers. Do you think that in an era of no washing machines and no multiple sheet sets he was allowed to do this time and time again for no apparent reason and not end up sleeping amidst his barf particles? I think not. I think he'd be washing his own sheets pretty soon in the river with bloody knuckles of his own. I think he'd learn pretty stinking fast not to barf in his bed. His mom wouldn't be running with his barfing self out of the nursery to try to stop the inevitable sheet change one stinking time. I don't think so. Heck, he'd be lucky to have a bed. And if he barfed in mom and pop's bed? I think he'd be hoeing a row of crops before he was 2.

I mean how did tantrums achieve anything until the current parental administration where we overindulge such children? In the last, what, 50 years there's been a sea change from children being a necessary production of help mates for the household to children being our entire reason for the sun coming up in the morning and goodness knows you better not wake/upset/scold/deny/deprive them. So I see how it's evolutionarily useful now. It works like a charm to lay your tiny little body down in the middle of a packed grocery store and go to town with tears and snot because you bet your mom is going to scoop your butt up and get you anything to shut you up so she can finish shopping because this is the one stupid chance she gets all week to get groceries and if she can't now you'll all starve.

Well not this mom. That kid and I will either be standing there annoying the rest of you until he's done with his theatrics or we leave and we starve. I know it looks bad to the other judging eyes and I've been them too, but you know once you're the parent that the difference between a tantrum and a true cry is so obvious to you at some point early on in getting to know this kid that you can not allow yourself to indulge the former. Because that only means more in the future. And those judging eyes? They can go have triplets of their own and then judge me. Well, maybe not even then. Because this is my kid, and for some unexplainable reason tantrums are there in the animal brain, even though I'm pretty sure that our ancestor apes used them to better effect and they should have been extinguished as a useful strategy somewhere around the 1300s, BC, and there is NOTHING. I. CAN. DO. ABOUT. IT. So smile sweetly and move on rubberneckers. Nothing to see here.

Holiday shmoliday

Long holiday weekends annoy me. Particularly because here I am exhausted at the end of one and everyone else is all fresh and, well, perhaps hung over. Fine, exhausted for a different reason. All sunburned and overfed and smokey throated from cookouts and sitting by pools and watching fireworks. See, I'm a holiday lover. Before I had kids who, for the first years of their lives, are keeping me from having any. Because what is a holiday if I lose my usual childcare for the day? That seems like NOT a holiday to me.

And I want to laugh about the idiot hooligans who set off firecrackers in my neighborhood half the night but I'm trying to sleep here. Why? Because my molar teething daughter has kept me up for 3 nights straight waking every hour or two to complain about it loudly. Because in the morning I have to get up, dress, feed and clean them and take the to the park singlehandedly. While at the park I have to monitor them on a jungle gym, catch B as he slides down the slide head first, A as she eats sand, C as he finds a step to just sit on and cry for no reason. But I also apparently have to monitor the 8 year old daughter of a dad playing basketball in the nearby courts for some reason?

First of all, this park is divided into two play areas with fences. The one we're in, for very young kids, and the other one for kids her age. Where does she choose to play? Here. How many times to I have to remind her that she has to close the stinking door behind her on the way in and out because I have THREE running toddlers trying to escape at every minute? And why does she have to bring in a cup of water to play in the sand with, leaving two wet sandy spots for my kid to sit in and walk in after she's abandoned them? No, I don't bring a change of clothing to the park with me, why would I? And how bad of a mom am I to have to let my daughter run around with a big wet behind on a 60 degree day?

Dad? Whomever you are? I don't think your wife's idea for you to take your daughter to the park was this exactly. I don't think she was supposed to entertain herself completely, do you see this as father/daughter bonding time? Do you think she'll look back on these days fondly? Oh, remember dad, how you used to take me to the park and abandon me so you could pretend you were still single and play with those loud sweaty men a testosterone laden game of basketball? Right.

So, I leave the Independence weekend a little crabbier than before. Shocking I know, but I think my transition to grouchy old lady may be completing. I'm the one at the window looking out at the neighborhood fireworks (and I'm not talking little tiny fireworks, I'm talking they got the kind that shoot up over their 3 story houses and explode, lighting up the neighborhood and echoing for miles) grumbling and moaning about kids and hooligans and where are the police. I'm the one sending dirty looks to the dad on the b-ball court ignoring his lonely daughter. I'm the one who can't wait until next year when the kids are old enough to take to a fireworks display and maybe spend the day cooking out and baking ourselves in the sun. Wait, what? That doesn't fit. Ok, fine, I have a little holiday spirit left in me. Even if it is all in future fantasy land.

Great expectations

People generally expect that women who've gone through IVF are so much more grateful for their children (or should be) than those who didn't. One would also assume that they would be so over ready to be parents that they enjoy every second or perhaps savor the time with their baby (or babies) because it's that much sweeter. Lord knows that once you've been told your chance to have a baby with your own DNA in them is less than 20% and then you end up with not just one, but three, you might feel extra blessed and be able to overlook all the hard parts.

Well, no. You can't overlook the fact that with three babies at once you can't give any one of them enough time when they're crying and at least one of them will be crying at every given moment. You can't overlook the fact that sleeping through the night is almost impossible when there are three different individuals on their own time frame having at least one bad night out of three like any normal baby. The likelihood of all three having the bad night on the same night and then sleeping peacefully for two in a row? Impossible. Yes, I feel incredibly lucky I don't have to do IVF ever again and that I got the 'perfect family' all at once, but dude. I am so tired.

I hate the fact that I count the minutes until bedtime starting only seconds after they get up from their afternoon nap. Sure, they're fun, playful, and generally in a good mood after the nap, but then comes the 5-10 minutes before dinner when they all lose their minds because they know I'm in the kitchen preparing it. Then there is the exhausting process of bedtime itself, changing three kids, wrestling them all into pjs when they just want to play. If it's a bath night, wrestling a wet and naked kid on the bed while trying to lotion and diaper and keep them from sticking their fingers in the Desitin. Three times.

I keep waiting for the lightning to strike me. The magical fairy dust that will make me sit still and realize what a wonderful life I have right now. Sure I'm fat, tired, overwhelmed, overworked and still have a crazy mom, but I have three incredible human beings who are growing in fascinating ways every day and who all seem to really like me. Is it a matter of sleep? If I just get 3 nights of good sleep will my attitude change? Or is it an age thing, once they start talking and we can do more things together? Or am I just the kind of person who always looks to the future, to a time when things will be better or different, just like I've always been? I couldn't wait to be in college, out on my own, 25, 30, married, pregnant, now I can't wait to have teenagers? Because I don't want to miss this cute stuff. I don't want to look back with regret on today and think, I should not have been counting the minutes until bedtime, I should be counting the minutes until they wake up from nap so I can see them.